I Think I Am Going Through a Green Phase...and how I am So MOTHERFUCKING PISSED I Could Die!

Wooooaaaahhh, hold on to your melodrama hats, kids. You're in for a bumpy ride.

So, mere minutes ago I had finished crafting the first entry in to my new blog. It was witty, clever, and beautifully written, if I do say so myself. And I do. Yet God had other Christmas plans for my entry, and took it with him to the land of nonexistence, guising the theft as a Firefox crash when everyone knows Firefox doesn't crash.

It was so good, too. It covered all of the basics. The five-Ws and an H. I even got down to some of the gnitty-gritty stuff. Y'know, Bowie cutting of circulation to my foot with his collar, leading me to wonder if my foot was warm because of his fur or because of oxygen depravation, the joy of getting off of school, and even how this blog came to be.

I guess that is where I'll start this anger-riddled entry. Wait, let me save my progress. Ohhh, how annoying. Here I was thinking Google had it all figured out with this shit only to learn there is not a single fail-safe. If it's gone, it's gone.

One thing I do remember talking about was being bedazzled, possibly by the new Almodovar film I just saw, Volver. It is amazing and pretty much everyone should see it. Regardless, that has nought to do with bedazzling. What does have to do with bedazzling is this woman I saw today at the mall. Well, two women, but I wasn't sure how to word the sentence so I left it be until this sentence.

She was rather round on top, but had a very slim waist, almost no hips, and little twiggy legs. It was like looking at a stork. This, however, was a trashy stork (rather like those trashy stork things you put on your lawn when someone has a baby. No one gives a shit about your new baby, and that fucking sign is a blight on my plane of vision). By the way, I put the period after all my ( ). It makes me feel like I am citing, according to MLA standards, my own brain.

Her pants were the reason that bedazzling never actually made anyone any money, contrary to the infomercial's suggestion. They were cigarette jeans with black rhinestones covering the entire bottom half before shading in to nothing near her top. Only a few stragglers ran in to her black, see-through chiffon top, which barely covered her white padded bra from Kohl's. In her cleavage...a pack of Newports. Full-tar baby! All the way!

With her was a lovely young creature who had also fallen victim to the worst trend since back-hair was acceptable. From her shoulders to her ankles, this delicate little flower was covered in suede. Tan on bottom, with purple beddazzle-beads forming swirls, nay, whisps rising to the black suede that took control at her waist. It was almost like a wizard's robe, but in poorer taste.

I know there are certain friends reading this and thinking that I am being shallow, and I am. There is no real denying that fact. But let me have my fun. I spent all day playing cute-helpful-nice-gay boy to women who refuse to watch after their children, pay full price, or learn English. Apparently I was doing a good job, because a precious old Russian woman, decked in shiny red and gold, told me I was being nice...several times, as if on a loop. At least she learned a word other than "sale?".

My efforts to manipulate the language barrier for personal benefit didn't even work today. Every single foreign woman I attempted to dupe in to signing up for a Banana Republic card went through the process of filling out all of the paperwork, a lengthy ordeal, only to realize that they don't have a social security number. Honestly, what the fuck? I would consider it a no-brainer that if you don't got no SSN, you ain't gonna get no BRC (Banana Republic Card).

Ok, the thought just struck me to go to bed, despite there not yet being some thread that ties all of my little rantings together. Blame Firefox. Blame the President. Blame Mike Berlin, who accurately predicted that I would return to blogging after he peaked my interest in the art, once again. He knows all too well that Andrew+free time=something for everyone else to waste their time with.

Everyone do their best to have a Merry Christmas (if that's your thing). Peace, Love...the Gap?

God help.